


Unsaid Words

by rootedinsunlight



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Book 3: Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, Emotional, Hurt Remus Lupin, James Potter - Freeform, Lily Evans - Freeform, Marauders, Marauders Friendship (Harry Potter), One Shot, POV Remus Lupin, Post-Marauders Era (Harry Potter), Protective Remus Lupin, Re-write, Remus Lupin Needs a Hug, Sad and Happy, wolfstar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-13
Updated: 2020-12-13
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:35:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28041009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rootedinsunlight/pseuds/rootedinsunlight
Summary: Professor Lupin is back at Hogwarts, facing ghosts from his past. He has tea with young Harry Potter.This is a re-write of the scene in Chapter 8 ("Flight of the Fat Lady") of Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, from REMUS LUPIN's point of view. Mostly him musing on meeting Harry and thinking about James, Lily, his childhood, Sirius, etc.It's somewhat inspired by the characterization of Lupin in mskingbean89's iconic fic, "All The Young Dudes" and uses the dialogue from the original JKR books (although I do NOT support JKR or her disgusting views).
Comments: 2
Kudos: 30





	Unsaid Words

Lupin gently rested his hands on the wooden desk before him, staring down at his arms. The silvery scars that criss-crossed his pale skin were a familiar sight, although there were a couple fresh scratches from when a group of nervous, struggling third-years had approached him asking for help in managing their hefty copies of  _ The Monster Book of Monsters.  _ Lupin laughed softly to himself. Leave it to Hagrid to keep things interesting. He did wish that Lucius Malfoy’s son hadn’t been involved in the hippogriff incident, though, and thought it was quite lucky that the other governors had disagreed with Lucius’s vehement calls to fire Hagrid. Draco was a pale smudge with Lucius’s platinum hair and that classic Malfoy sneer. Lupin thought he could see a little bit of Narcissa in him, too, in the way he looked around, preening, when Lupin had complimented him on his wand work with the kappas he had brought in last week. 

And once, at dinner, he saw someone else in him. Lupin had been watching the students eat and talk (which mostly meant watching Harry eat and talk) and caught a glimpse of Draco telling a story to a group of people at the Slytherin table. Draco was leaning over the table, eyes glittering cunningly, and paused in the middle of something he was saying to see his friends’ reactions, his mouth slightly open and his expression hopeful. For a split second, Lupin saw Sirius Black—but then he blinked, and Sirius was gone. 

Lupin pressed the heel of his hands into his eyes, shaking the memories off. Since he had been back to Hogwarts, they had flooded in, unbidden and unwelcome. Just that day, he had been listening to Professor Flitwick talking about finding the Gryffindor Head Boy cozying up with a Ravenclaw girl behind the unicorn hunt tapestry in the Charms corridor and smiled into his teacup, remembering his days as a prefect patrolling the hallways and encountering many couples behind that very tapestry. The grounds, the staircases, the classrooms, the Great Hall—it was like he was a ghost, wandering through his old home filled with new, unfamiliar people. But then there was Harry, and he was nothing if not familiar. He watched Harry come in from Quidditch practices, soaking wet but grinning in exhilaration as he raced up to the Gryffindor common room, and felt his heart contract for a minute—he could have sworn it was James, who never once complained when it came to Quidditch. He watched Harry grinning across the table at dinner at his friends, the youngest Weasley boy and that brilliant Granger. Unlike James, he wasn’t the star of the show. He was a little quieter, less confident. But then again, he hadn’t been raised with the unconditional love of Mr. and Mrs. Potter, bless their souls. Lupin still wasn’t entirely sure what it had been like for Harry, tucked away in some corner of Surrey with Petunia and her husband. He hoped that Petunia, as prim as he knew of her to be, had also inherited some of that Lily Evans warmth. Harry certainly had; Lupin could see it in the way he congratulated Longbottom on his successful transformation of the boggart on the way out of class, making Longbottom redden happily. But even as Lupin saw James and Lily in Harry, he also saw a lot of himself. McGonagall had watched him curiously the other night as he looked at Harry, and turned her head to speak quietly to him. 

“He’s a very bright boy. Has been since he came here. Was a little rough for wear, because of his upbringing, but some love and good friends have done wonders.” she murmured, a smile at her lips. Her unsaid words were obvious:  _ not unlike another young boy I also knew. _

He leaned back in his chair, rolling his neck and feeling it crack. He was getting old. It was too quiet in his office for his liking, just the soft humming of the grindylow tank by his desk, and he resolved to put some music on. All he really listened to these days was jazz. Anything from his youth—anything he really loved—hurt too much. Just as he was approaching the box behind the door that had his record player in it, he stopped in his tracks. Harry was wandering through the corridor outside his room, lost in thought. Lupin had a bizarre urge to invite him in for tea, then admonished himself quickly. Lupin had promised himself not to get caught up in old memories, and to not entangle himself in the life of someone who he had not been there for for the past thirteen years.  _ Harry was his own person _ , the stern voice in his head told him,  _ and you’ll ruin him.  _ But his heart won out, and he hurried to the doorway, poking his head around. 

“Harry?” he called. 

The boy turned and doubled back, surprised.

“What are you doing here? Where are Ron and Hermione?” 

Harry rubbed the back of his neck, just as James had when he wanted to appear nonchalant, and said “Hogsmeade” in a too-casual tone. 

Lupin thought to ask why Harry wasn’t there, too, but then remembered.  _ Ah, yes, he is in mortal danger from my best friend, the serial killer.  _ The voice in his head could be so bitter sometimes. 

“Ah. Why don’t you come in? I’ve just taken delivery of a grindylow for our next lesson.” 

He purposefully ignored the voice in his head telling him to double back on the invitation. Harry looked curious, and followed Lupin into his office.

“A what?” he asked. 

Lupin gestured at the tank to explain. As he elaborated on the nature of the water demon, he watched Harry’s eyes light up in interest. The grindylow bared his teeth, but Harry didn’t seem afraid, just cocked his head a little. 

“Cup of tea? I was just thinking of making one.” 

Every signal in his brain was telling him to stop, to let Harry go. He didn’t want to be an old man trying to relive an old story that had ended so long ago. It didn’t seem fair to try to insert himself in Harry’s life now, not when he had spent so many years wallowing in self-hatred and pity, wondering if Harry was okay to but not doing anything about it. And did Harry really need a werewolf in his life right now? His time at Hogwarts had certainly been eventful enough.

But Harry said yes to the tea, and Lupin decided to be selfish for once. He told Harry to sit down. 

“I’ve only got teabags, I’m afraid—but I daresay you’ve had enough of tea leaves?” Lupin suppressed a smile, thinking of endearingly loopy Sybill Trelawny. 

“How do you know about that?” Harry asked, his eyebrows crinkling. 

“Professor McGonagall told me. You’re not worried, are you?” 

Harry accepted the chipped mug of steaming tea with both hands, holding it close to him. He thought for a moment, and then shook his head firmly. 

“No.” 

There was something in his expression, a faraway look. A look of buried secrets and solo burdens, a look Lupin knew well. 

Lupin felt fairly sure that he knew what the answer would be, but he asked anyway: “Anything worrying you, Harry?” 

“No,” said Harry immediately, not making eye contact and watching the incensed grindylow instead. Another boy with secrets, Lupin thought sadly. But then Harry surprised him by turning his head back and saying “Yes.”

“You know that day we fought the boggart?” Harry continued. Lupin nodded and murmured in the affirmative. “Why didn’t you let me fight it?” 

His tone wasn’t disrespectful, but carried some weight. He had clearly been thinking about this for a while. Lupin had thought that stepping in front of Harry had been a relief for the child. To be fair, Lupin hadn’t been keen on seeing Voldemort either. He hoped that the appearance of the silver orb in front of him had not been too obvious. He had been surprised four years ago, after he was dispatched to nearby Muggle woman’s home to deal with a disturbance in a vintage cupboard she had bought, to find that his boggart had changed back to the full moon. After the middle of his fifth year, his boggart had become dark hands pulling him towards a cage. His transformations after the marauders had become animagi with him had still been painful, yes, but also nights of careless fun and wide open fields. So the fear of the full moon had faded away—until 1981, until everything changed and he dreaded every full moon even more than before. He turned his attention back to Harry’s question, frowning.

“I would have thought that was obvious, Harry.” 

“Why?” Harry said, very surprised. 

Lupin chewed his lip and considered. 

“Well, I assumed that if the boggart faced you, it would have assumed the shape of Lord Voldemort.” 

Harry stared at him, his mouth open slightly in shock. Lupin realized that he had been hasty in his assumption. 

“Clearly, I was wrong. But I didn’t think it a good idea for Lord Voldemort to materialize in the staffroom. I imagined that people would panic.” Lupin furrowed his brows, rubbing his chin. If Harry wasn’t afraid of Voldemort, then what?

“But then, I - I remembered the dementors.” Harry said, his voice a little quieter. He looked down at the mug of tea in his hands. Lupin felt his mouth go dry, remembering the Dementor in the train to Hogwarts, and the fear in his throat when Harry collapsed to the ground behind him. Lupin counted himself lucky to have been able to create that wisp of a wolf to drive the nasty creature away. He hadn’t been able to produce anything close to a fully-fledged Patronus in thirteen years. 

“I see. Well, well...I’m impressed. That suggests that what you fear most of all is—fear. Very wise, Harry.” Lupin smiled knowingly at the grimace on Harry’s face, realizing how he must sound: like another adult with a cheesy adage to offer. He was being honest, though—dementors were most chilling not for claws or talons, but for the way they made you feel entirely weak and helpless. As Harry sipped his tea, his face unreadable, Lupin continued. “So you’ve been thinking that I didn’t believe you capable of fighting the boggart?”

Harry peered up at him with his piercing green eyes, looking more cheerful.

“Well..yeah. Professor Lupin, you know the dementors..”

They were interrupted by a knock. In came Severus Snape, looking unpleasant as always. His eyes flitted between Lupin and Harry, his mouth tightening, and Lupin smiled inwardly at the memories that were surely filling Snape’s head now, memories of Lupin and another boy who looked like this one, who had together often gotten the best of the greasy little git. Snape held the Wolfsbane Potion in his long fingers and narrowed his eyes at Lupin. Working at Hogwarts, with Snape—who would have ever guessed? Snape loved the power he had over Lupin now, though. That much was clear in every potion he brewed and the casual, snide references to the moon and related “afflictions.” 

“Ah, Severus. Thanks very much. Could you leave it here on the desk for me?” 

Snape’s robes swished as he approached the desk and set the goblet down. He stared at Harry with open distaste, and Lupin felt an anger that he knew he couldn’t express, not with the knowledge that Snape had about him.

“I was just showing Harry my grindylow,” Lupin smiled tightly, gesturing to the tank. Snape dismissed this. 

“You should drink that directly, Lupin.” Snape said, a malicious smile playing at his lips as he looked pointedly at the potion. 

“Yes, yes, I will.” 

“I made an entire cauldronful. If you need more…” Snape’s mean eyes raked over Lupin’s face, no doubt noticing the tired shadows under his eyes. Harry was looking at the potion, and then Lupin, with curiosity. As Snape clearly wanted him to.  _ Still a greasy little git,  _ Lupin thought.

“I should probably take some again tomorrow.” Lupin glanced at the open door in what he hoped was a pointed glare. “Thanks  _ very _ much, Severus.”  _ You slimy, foul- _

“Not at all.” Snape said, eyes narrowed. He swept out of the room, and Lupin let out a breath he hadn’t known he had been holding. Harry was peering at the goblet, trying to look at the contents inside. Lupin sighed inwardly. He hated having to keep even more secrets from the boy.

“Professor Snape has very kindly concocted a potion for me. I have never been much of a potion-brewer and this one is particularly complex.” Lupin looked at the murky liquid and stifled a gag as he took a sip of it. “Pity sugar makes it useless.”

“Why—?” Harry began, then stopped himself. 

“I’ve been feeling a bit off-color. This potion is the only thing that helps.” It wasn’t exactly untrue. He hoped he hadn’t been too obvious with his dislike of Snape. He felt he owed it to Harry to be professional. For some reason, he found himself wanting to impress the child in front of him. “I am very lucky to be working alongside Professor Snape, there aren’t many wizards who are up to making it.”

Lupin took another sip and saw Harry frown at him. 

“Professor Snape’s very interested in the Dark Arts.” Harry said, very quickly and in a hushed tone. Lupin schooled his features into what he hoped was a mild expression. 

“Really?” he said, taking another sip so he wouldn’t have to look at Harry directly. Lupin remembered all too well of Snape’s interest in the dark arts—and it wasn’t the defensive portion of it that had enticed him. 

“Some people reckon—some people reckon he’d do anything to get the Defense Against the Dark Arts job.” 

Lupin kept drinking the potion so Harry didn’t see his face. Tears had sprung to his eyes unexpectedly, at Harry’s clear concern that Snape had poisoned Lupin. Lupin was surprised at his emotional reaction, and willed himself to composure as he drained the goblet. He set it down carefully, grimacing. “Disgusting.”

Lupin looked at the boy in front of him, his untidy black hair, his bright emerald eyes, his thoughtful and kind expression. A boy made up of so many stories that Lupin knew by heart—and a boy with his own stories to shape. Lupin got a sudden, reckless urge to hug Harry and hold him close. He blinked it away. 

“Well, Harry, I’d better get to work. I’ll see you at the feast later.” 

Harry put his teacup down, nodding.

“Right. Thanks, Professor Lupin. See you!” Harry flashed a grin at Lupin and dashed out of the office, looking happier than he had when he had come in.  _ That was something, _ Lupin told himself. Really, it was everything. 


End file.
